Morning Newspaper
by cptnonigiri
Summary: The Malfoy newlyweds read a Skeeter piece on their marriage; bickering and reminiscing ensue.


There they were, on the photo, under the comically glittering headline "Wizarding Britain's New Golden Couple". Skeeter's photography sidekick had been arranging them for almost half of the morning before he even got behind the camera; there was always an "issue with the light" or "ju—st a teensy bit to the right". The final photo featured a Hermione Granger with a diplomatic smile so thin that it looked like a flick of a quill could puff it off, while Draco sported his usual broody look. Three seconds into the photo, Hermione stole a look in Draco's direction and let slip a snicker, presumably at his unapologetic sulkiness, which in turn wavered the icy look on the blond's face. In the end, they just looked like a disgruntled but somewhat amused pair, which, oddly enough, Hermione thought _,_ was basically how they functioned as a couple.

Hermione turned to look at Draco, unsurprised to find his unrelenting glare at the photo. "It's not that bad," she chirped, in a rather good mood as she took another sip of her morning coffee. "You have a cowlick, though, _here._ " She squinted at the picture, pinning down her finger at an almost invisible filament of Draco's hair perking up just above his ear.

"And you look like a cow just _stomped_ all over your hair —"

She laughed, basking in her inevitable victory as hair insults could never hurt her as much as they do him. She leaned over and took a bite of his toast, _predictable prat_.

"You think you can just waltz into the room, insult my hair, and eat _my_ toast — "

"Hmm-mmm," Hermione took another vindictive bite of his toast, humming in satisfaction as the lightly salted butter washed over her tastebuds, "Yes, I do. I very _do."_

Draco's supposedly angry glare faltered at her utterance of those few words she had declared just a few weeks ago, in a pristine white dress that had her acting all uncomfortable but looking heavenly nonetheless. And that look on her face — Is buttered toast really _that_ good? _Mad harpy._

He humphed, yanking the harpy to settle on his lap, she shamelessly peppering the front of his robe with bread crumbs the whole time.

Hermione fetched the Prophet from the table. It took her some fumbling to unfold it as one of her hands is still in possession of Draco's toast, while the bitter toast jackee made no attempt to help his loving wife in her struggle. She finally shook out the paper, eyes turning to the article under their photo that took up half of the front page.

"Alright, let's just see what she had to say".

 _We here at the Daily Prophet are honored to present you an intimate peak into the astonishing union of the new Malfoy couple, whose wedding last month had set a hallmark of the decorative grandiosity magic and wealth together can achieve…_

"Oh for Merlin's sake, it's not like we are spending the lunch money of some starving African children —"

"Shhh—" Hermione raised a hand to stroke Draco's hair, determined to not get riled up too early, knowing the article, written by their beloved Rita Skeeter, surely had much worse in store. Draco would glare at her for days if she ever said this again, but he was a lot like Crookshanks in certain ways. A little petting went a _long_ way.

 _Today the much buzzed about couple sat in front of us, having cheerfully agreed —_

"Seriously —"

"Those ministry propaganda hogs might as well have _abducted_ us! _Symbol of the harmonious new order in Wizarding Britain_ my ARSE _—_ "

Hermione sent Draco an admonishing glare that lacked any real fire. She was just glad that the bug lady was not yet privy to the foul mouth behind the dignified appearance of the Malfoy princeling.

 _to an exclusive interview on their romantic journey. In contrast to Mr. Malfoy's devilish good looks —_

Hermione laughed and Draco narrowed his eyes menacingly.

"Too bad she did not compliment your delicate lily petal skin —"

"— not getting any donations from the Malfoy vaults this year — only _I_ am allowed to comment on that unruly beast you call hair!"

… _While the couple claimed to have gotten together after the war, Hogwarts hallway sources had it that Mr. Malfoy had never missed a chance to tease the girl he liked back in the day…_

Hermione's eyes widened in disbelief, "What did we ever say to give her _that_ idea?"

"Well…she asked when was the first time we felt attracted to each other," Draco fidgeted in the chair, "and I did say that I thought you were pretty for exactly half of a second at the Yule Ball."

"Wha—"

"I was 14 and you wore a strategically fitted dress —"

"You little perv —"

"Hey! Not my face — you are ruining my _devilish good looks —_ "

 _Smack!_

"You don't admit to things like that to _Rita Bleeding Skeeter —_ we are going to be snogging in a Hogwarts broomstick cupboard in the next sentence —"

" _Oh?_ That came out _quite_ quickly — is it just a spur of the moment thing or have you always had a certain fantasy —"

 _Whack!_

Hermione ignored his dramatic hissing and turned back to the article.

… _since the couple had trodden down distinctively different paths in the past —_

"— Did you, really?"

Hermione blurted out the question despite her best efforts to reign it in. She felt laughable even asking — it did not make any difference that a 14 year old Draco Malfoy thought she was pretty for half a second, he was an insufferable little brat back then and they _hated_ each other with a passion —

"Fishing for compliments, are we?" He teased with a crooked smile, a look that she had gotten used to seeing but still could not help the increasing pace of her heartbeats. "Well…I never quite knew how to talk about this stuff — it took a while to notice under all those senseless baggy robes you inflicted upon yourself all the time, and there were days your hair was so big I couldn't even see your face properly — but I always got more entertaining comebacks from you than Potter and the Weasel, who mostly just grunted and shot flobberworms at themselves. It wasn't like I never thought about — but — well, you know, I didn't have much time to think about anything else after we acquired an in-house serial killer whose wand was constantly at my parents' pulse points."

Hermione laughed softly, her chest warming at the piece of knowledge that her Hogwarts self would have been _abhorred_ to find out. _Funny how things turned out_ , she mused.

"— well, there was also that busty covergirl on my dad's PlayWizard magazine when I was little. She also had quite the buckteeth — Ouch!"

Hermione shot Draco one last seething glare, and Draco quickly guided their attention back to the article, probably sensing an upcoming lecture on his Slytherin tendency to ruin warm fuzzy moments if he ever saw any coming.

… _the inevitable suspicion of the marriage was in fact a carefully plotted union to restore the Malfoy reputation in the post-war political climate —_

 _"_ How dare she?! I am _so_ filing a complaint —"

Hermione turned to Draco, disheartened at finding him eerily quiet and with that tired, introspective look on his face. "Draco Malfoy, _don't_ you dare for a second —"

Draco is not a man with a lot of self-pity, in fact, most would rather accuse him of a brimming sense of confidence that amounted to annoyance more often than not. However, that didn't mean that he was not practical enough to own up to the fact that Hermione was the one making the sacrifices in associating with _him._ The post-war wizarding community, strewn with survivors mourning family members lost in the war against the side _his family_ was on, were eager to celebrate the end of an era where blood-prejudiced pureblood families practically ruled the nation. They certainly did not take well to Draco Malfoy, generally perceived as a war criminal who fished his way out of Azkaban with blood-stained family money, putting a ring on the well-loved Muggle-born war heroine.

They had had quite a few squabbles about this whole…reputation thing when they first started going out. The woman simply had a ridiculous sense of justice and an insufferable big bleeding heart that refused to put up with so much of a trace of guilt in his eyes.

"It's just the same old stuff. It's not worth — " He said placatingly, tugging one of her little hands into his.

"I decide what's worth my time and effort!" Hermione glowered at him, her usually warm chocolate eyes spitting fire in a way not unlike a 12-foot Chinese Fireball.

He doubted if he would ever learn the words for this warm, tightening sensation in this chest no matter how many times he went through it. Blaise had laughed at him ruthlessly the one time he fumbled for a description in a rare attempt at a post-fire-whisky heart-to-heart. The truth was — he was certainly _very, very_ well cared for when he was growing up — he was _loved_ , no doubt, however questionable his parents' ethical values might have been. And there was certainly no lack of effort to protect him on his mother's part. However, he could not recall anyone else who…saw the good in him when even he himself could not, stood up for him, turned up her nose at an entire country for him, _trusted_ him against the rest of the world, and once, when a Prophet cameraman snuck up on them during a grocery trip, threaded her fingers through his and held it up in the photographer's face.

He loved her for many things. He loved her for her strength, her fire, her — it's going to take him at least a dozen of butter beers to ever say this out loud — selflessness and compassion.

Tongue-tied at the embarrassing flush of emotion the woman never failed to set upon him, Draco squeezed her hand, probably a little too tightly. She did not wince, though, just flashed a big smile to mirror the tugging at the corner of his mouth.

 _Barking mad with that big heart of hers,_ Draco thought, and made a mental note to make another anonymous donation to S.P.E.W once they are done reading this bloody stupid article.

… _our readership has also expressed unanimous curiosity regarding the budding stages of such an unlikely relationship, with many female readers citing the admirable physique and irresistible bad boy appeal of Mr. Malfoy as the most likely catalyst. We are pleased to unveil the mystery for you — the couple had first rekindled their childhood fire upon a chance encounter at the Magical Managerie on one fated Sunday morning —_

The couple broke out in joint laughter, even though it had taken Draco longer to fully appreciate the humor of the situation. They had, after endless harassing questions, grudgingly told Skeeter in as few words as possible that they had first spoken to each other at the Diagon Alley pet store after the war, when Hermione took Crookshanks there for a routine check-up.

"It was quite difficult to notice that… _admirable physique_ under all the owl droppings," Hermione barely made out the words amidst her laughter that sounded a little too hearty in Draco's opinion.

"Only because your monster cat went ballistic and attacked half of the owls in the store!"

"Hey! Don't say that — he _knows_ when you talk bad of him! He was just excited — he just hadn't had any playmates for a while —"

"—and he practically tried to claw my scalp off afterwards —"

"That's NOT true —"

The truth was, their "fated encounter" was a lot less romantic than what Rita Skeeter had imagined. It was not even…vaguely pleasant, by any stretch of the word. He happened to be in the store to purchase a gift for Blaise's crybaby niece, who was starting at Hogwarts that fall, when Crookshanks decided to chase after two dozen owls around the store and scared them shitless — or rather, extremely _shitful_. Draco had not wanted anyone to catch him draped in owl droppings and fighting off an enormous ginger beast off his neck, the least of all Hermione Granger. She had rushed to his rescue while issuing an apology longer than the majority of his Hogwarts papers, before she recognized him in the havoc of the moment, which then sent her into an exquisite look of ready to bite her tongue off and dying to figure out how to best retrieve her hands that were busy mopping away bird feces off his person. He had better not clue in the missus on this lest he wanted any extremities hexed off — but in the middle of all the rage, surprise, and exasperation, he had quite enjoyed those dainty little hands of hers busying away across his… _admirable physique_.

Hermione had, looking half mortified and half exasperated, offered to replace his robes, only to gasp as if he had just asked her for a strip tease after hearing the price. Draco had maliciously suggested that she wrote his report for an imported potion ingredient from Sweden, knowing that the witch had too much pride and "academic integrity" to consent while he could use her hesitation time to mull on some other request that would set her off even more. To his great surprise, Hermione bit the bullet and hence began a fortnight of frequent owling, business inquiries, not-so-business inquiries, endless bickering, occasional laughter, and eventually a white night of finishing off the report in his office that had somehow ended in a sloppy, bleary-eyed kiss that neither admitted to initiating.

" — besides, I would never have noticed your _bad boy appeal_ if not for the claws of Crooks — "

He laughed, a sort of laugh that he reserved for none other but the very protesting lady who was currently jabbing a finger into his chest. He had, after all, always invested in premium cat bites despite never being able to summon much affection for that unsightly cat-kneazle Hermione so adored. The beast did have a part in the beginning of things, he admitted — and for that, he earned a lifetime of fancy cat treats.

… _The famed couple were known to have gone off a rocky start, resulting in frequent public confrontations that spread unrest to many respected members of our society —_

 _"_ Okay, this one is your fault, she's bound to be talking about the time you threw a fit and almost blasted McLaggen's bits off in the three broomsticks —"

"— _as if_ that vaguely measures up to you almost set Fortescue's ice cream place on fire when rooting for the _wrong_ year of the seventh Goblin rebellion —"

"— or the time you and Ron went all barbaric on each other —"

"That's just how blokes work — we were fine afterwards, weren't we? Weaselbee is not that bad of a chess companion, actually — and since when is he _respected?_ "

"OH! I know! She's gotta be talking about the time you went mad and attempted to buy that bloody mutated animal corpus for the sleeping drought —"

"Which worked — might I add, as your dad likes to say — like magic!"

"Or —"

"— forgotten about the time you _wrongly_ accused of me trying to tear you away from Flourish and Botts so they could wrap up your secret birthday present?"

"— the time Harry and you got smashed drunk and almost tore down Hog's head!"

"Hey," Draco said with a wry smile, knowing that Hermione would never quite wrap her head around his unlikely friendship with the Boy-Who-Could-Not-Chug-a-Beer, "that Potter is actually an alright bloke if you got enough alcohol in his system."

Rocky start or not, the pair of them certainly had a tendency of getting too hotheaded about everything — just about _everything —_ they ever got up to. He had suspected, even back in school, that someone had instilled some sort of vicious blood magic in Hermione and him that just made them practically…combustible in each other's presence. Nothing was ever in control between them, a fact that had aggravated both of them to no end before they resigned to the fact that there was never going to be much control in each other's presence. There was nothing they could do half-heartedly; even a trivial argument about history of magic could set sparks cackling in the air around them that would more often than not send them into a heated argument that looked like they were going to tear each other apart, until the tension got so overwhelming that one of them had to shut the other up with an exasperated kiss.

"I guess we will have to call this one a tie," Hermione sighed, unwilling to give up a good competition but knowing Draco and herself, they'd probably end up spend the entire morning going off the list. She did not quite mind the aspect of a lengthy banter and especially what was bound to come afterwards, but alas, they do have work to get to at some point.

… _having sustained a heavy blow to his family name after the war, Mr. Malfoy still enjoyed a Casanova reputation and many mourned the engagement of one of Britain's finest libertines. Despite our best efforts, the couple had refused to divulge anything beyond the popping of the question being "quite unplanned"…_

Unplanned indeed. Draco knew that Hermione had never been one to care for elaborated gestures or any froufrou, but he could never get past the tendency to try to give her the very best, which often resulted in exorbitant spending or burned black pancakes cooked the muggle way that had his wife bristle like her cat. Despite Hermione always claiming that the proposal "could not have been any better," he had been planning on re-doing a _proper_ one upon their first anniversary, with flowers and a fancy dinner whose bill she was bound to protest.

"— finest libertines, huh?" Hermione asked in a playful tone, drawing out a lascivious smile from her husband who knew no embarrassment in certain…matters of the bedroom.

"I never heard you complain, what with the practice makes perfect thing —" he reached a hand behind, cupped a bountiful cheek and honked it with some mad wiggling of his eyebrows that teased out a string of laughter from Hermione.

"For the record, I didn't even know it was not intentional — "

"Did you seriously _think_ that I was just gonna propose like that, with a ring tumbling out of my pocket?" Draco asked incredulously — some people just never understood the importance of finer things in life —

"I was really happy to see you!" Hermione protested at his accusing tone, "Plus — the ring meant that your mother was more or less on board and I know how much that means to you — not everything needs a fireworks show to be meaningful!"

 _A fireworks show_ , Draco made a mental note to add that to the shopping list of his anniversary surprise. A Slytherin knew when to catch a slip.

" _Happy_ to see me? That seemed quite the understatement…" Draco's voice trailed off suggestively.

Hermione blushed a dark shade of crimson. Well, _fine_ , she had practically _jumped_ him after his mysterious week-long business trip to France. Turned out that Draco had spent the week at his mom's cottage in Normandy, exploiting every persuasion trick in the book to finally finagle the family ring from a Narcissa who remained lukewarm at best to this day but gave her blessing nonetheless.

One could argue that Hermione might have been…a tad overly enthusiastic when Draco showed up at her door; after all, she did throw herself into his arms with such force that she knocked him off balance, sending both of them to the floor while the Malfoy heirloom rolled out of Draco's pocket.

Hermione had stared at the ring for a good minute, too overwhelmed with emotions to react. They had been dating for a year by then, and despite being perfectly happy with the way things were, she had always been a little…concerned when it came to the Future with the capital F. She had brought Draco to visit her parents who, despite their revived memories, had decided to stay with their bakery business in Australia. She had never seen Draco that out of sorts — it was like all of sudden he forgot how long his limbs were and wasn't quite sure where to place them. His unintended awkwardness charmed her mother easily, who might have been the first and last person to call Draco "adorable"; her dad made a few jibes about a grown man being that blonde, but was ultimately very pleased with Draco's impeccable dental assets that traced back to centuries of meticulous magical breeding.

The question seemed on the table, but she was not sure if Draco ever got over that nonsense about "dragging her name through the mud" and "compromising her political career" — he was worried that since the ministry could never budge his position for all the indisputable Malfoy connection in international trade, one-time dark magic sympathizers or not, they would find a way to lash out at her. She had snorted at the notion with a sneer that should have made him proud. _As if_ she would care to work for an institution that so much as _attempted_ to undermine the wizard she loved.

There was also the issue of his family. Draco's contact with his imprisoned father had been minimal after the war, but despite his silence on the topic, she knew she would hate to marry him only to sever the last bit of family affection he had — from Narcissa. However — she had blinked stupidly a few times just to make sure it was really there — the ring — the _family_ ring judging from the engraved "M" — she could only imagine the _hell_ Narcissa would put Draco through to part with it — the stupid git — just upped and left and decided to go through this all by himself —

"Yes! I will! I — I will!" She had gasped breathlessly, happy tears tingling in her eyes as she proceeded to snog her fiancé — her future _husband_ — conveniently lying on the floor under her — senseless.

Later, after they had _properly_ christened their engagement, a shame-faced Draco confessed about the _accident_ to his wide-eyed fiancée who, apparently, had just granted him the dream of his life without so much as allowing him the courtesy of getting down on one knee. He had _wanted_ to propose, of course; he had also intended to propose with the best florist in Britain and the finest Italian wine and the most sought-after French chef _and_ had already braced himself for Molly Weasley's smothering hugs to ask for one of her cinnamon apple pies that Hermione sometimes muttered about in her sleep. Hermione had merely waved away his ongoing apology as if his elaborate plans were an annoying and extremely costly fly. _We're still going to get that pie, though_ , she had added adamantly on an afterthought.

The article ran pretty thin after that, ending on a cringey uplifting note that was by no doubt sponsored by the ministry. The couple nestled against each other by their breakfast table, chattering and laughing about the various insinuations Skeeter managed to sprinkle between the lines. _This is not half bad_ , Hermione thought to herself with a smile as Draco ate the last bit of toast off her fingers _, being married to the biggest git in Britain. Not bad at all._ This was certainly not the happy ever after she had dreamed as a little girl, who adored a particularly amiable, polite, and mild-mannered medical intern at his parents' dentist office; her teenage self would probably have risked burning down the Hogwarts library only to have her fate rewritten; the present-day Hermione Malfoy-Granger, however, would absolutely _not_ have it any other way, owl droppings included.

The End

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A/N: A fun piece that had been simmering in my head for some time…hope you guys enjoyed it! Reviews are love, _always_ :)


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